


bile

by kyouyaed



Series: the mirevage dynamic [12]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emetophobia, Gen, Implied Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenant's Totem/Shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyouyaed/pseuds/kyouyaed
Summary: directly follows the events ofnauseous“I don’t need your help.” He bares his teeth. “I don’t need anybody’s help.”//The shadows linger, oil slick and hot; burning in Elliott's throat.//
Series: the mirevage dynamic [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625980
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	bile

**Author's Note:**

> DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT; usual warnings apply to this work.  
> it's not as graphically violent as others in this series, but the choking and the emetophobia trigger warnings are important to maintain.  
> briefly references torture from calculated revenge
> 
> i got inspired to bang this bad boy out 30 minutes before i had dnd and it's just been simmering softly ever since and i'm relatively satisfied with it, considering it's impulsive and had no clear plot in mind. that said, it's only loosely edited so please excuse any severe errors, and please let me know if i missed a tag warning.

There’s been a faint burning in his chest the last few days. The taste of bile has settled at the back of his throat, tainting the meals that he can hardly choke down as it just  _ lingers _ . It’s unfamiliar, because Elliott has long since been so used to the burns that come with the aches in his mind, the poison that taints his interactions normally, and this burn is just so incredibly unfamiliar. The glass of water in his hand shakes as the burning spikes for a moment. It drowns and mellows briefly as he takes a drink and he nods at whatever it is that Wattson is saying to him at that moment.

“-but I’m not quite sure,” Wattson goes on to say in her rich accent. Elliott merely hums in reply, taking another sip to quell the burning. “That’s why I wanted to get your opinion! Dr. Caustic seems quite comfortable in your presence, and I know that your work with your holotech is nothing short of groundbreaking, Mr. Witt!” He blinks at her, hand still shaking minutely around the glass. He takes another drink and runs his free hand through his hair.

Swallowing the water and the bile flavor, Elliott clears his throat and says, “Okay, okay, so what exactly is it you want to do to your pylon? How is my, admittedly impressive, knowledge going to help you?” He gives her a grin that belies the quite literally physical inner turmoil his throat and stomach are going through. It works; in that next moment, Wattson is off on a quick ramble that Elliott has a hard time keeping up with.

The next drink of water burns in a startling way and he spits both water and blood tinged bile back into the clear glass in his hand.

“-and so… Oh no! Mr. Witt?” Her hand on his around the glass causes him to flinch. “Mr. Witt? Are you alright? Perhaps we should get you to Ms. Che? Come on.” She drops back into French for a moment as she grasps for his free hand.

“It’s fine,” he says somewhat tersely. “Wattson-”

She either ignores him or doesn’t seem to process what he’s saying and she tugs on his hand. “Monsieur,” she insists. He tries to tug his hand away but her grip is firm.

“ _ Wattson _ !” His voice raises a little, but the look she gives him is just one of concern.

As she keeps tugging on him, the bile rises and he brings his cup to his mouth to spit up more bloody bile. “Stop,” he protests, his tug a little weaker this time. In his moment of weakness, Wattson manages to tug him a few steps further towards the exit of the kitchen. Elliott tries again to get free, but she tugs and he spits into his glass. The once clear water has filled with a horrible mess of  _ brown-red-green _ and a shudder runs through him.

“Please,” Wattson says, in English this time. “This cannot be good, Mr. Witt! We need to get you to a doctor, to Ms. Che-”

“Wattson,” Elliott tries again. “It’s nothing, c’mon. I was just a little sick after the last games, remember? Probably something from that, then.”

For just a moment, it seems as though she’s going to give in. But her eyes drop to his glass and she shakes her head.

“I’m afraid I must insist!” Wattson presses.

There’s a split moment for Elliott, then, where the bile surges but instead of projectile vomiting on the legend in front of him, the burn in his throat surges through his entire body. Bile burning and anger hot, it takes only a moment to course through him properly. Wattson lets out an alarmed shriek and lets his hand go in an instant but the burning is intense and Elliott is on her in an instant.

His glass hits the ground with a shrill shatter and he slams Wattson against the wall harshly, one arm across her throat and the other pinning her wrist above her head. She lets out a pained sound on impact and grits her teeth at him.

  
  


The burning in his throat has stopped, simmering just beneath the surface, and he bares his teeth at Wattson in return. He wonders if he’ll falter later at the memory of his arm across her throat, covered in inky shadows, embers peeking out of the dark here and there. The inky shadows that had made him sick in the first place. But here, shrouded in them, their feeling all too familiar, Elliott cannot bring himself to care about that.

“Mr. Witt!” Wattson snaps out at him, swinging up her free hand to try to smack him. She makes contact and his head is forced to the side. Pain radiates along his face, though it feels more distant than usual; distant in the way the pain feels when he’s stepped through Revenant’s totem. Slowly, he tips his head back in and stretches out his jaw with a glare at her.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he spits, releasing the pressure on her throat only to snatch up her other wrist and slam it against the wall to join her other. “I said I was fucking  _ fine _ , Wattson. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I was only trying to help!” she cries. “You are coughing up blood and bile, Mr. Witt! Even an idiot knows that is not good!”

“Lifeline isn’t going to help me,” he spits at her. “Where’s the brain Caustic insists you have?”

“She is the only doctor in immediate range!”

“In case you missed it,  _ Natalie _ ,” he spits her name like the bile that has been burning his throat, “I helped torture her.”

Wattson’s eyes flash across his face for a moment, and she shakes her head. “She is not a cruel woman, Elliott. She would help-”

He scoffs, and is distantly aware that the cruelty is strange. Except for the moments with Lifeline, the cruelty that the others associated with the totem always evaded him. Revenant’s shadows, the totem, the  _ taint _ had never truly changed him. But he’d also avoided using it too often.

“What is wrong with  _ you _ ?” Wattson demands, drawing Elliott from his thoughts. “We are all just trying to help you! Let me-”

He releases her wrists, only to lock both hands around her throat. She manages a loud, harsh shriek before his fingers fully close around her throat and he lifts her with all the strength he has, slamming her against the wall. Elliott holds her there, just a few inches from the floor, and he spits at her,

“I don’t need  _ your _ help, Wattson.” He squeezes his grip tighter around her throat. “I don’t need anybody’s  _ help _ .” His fingers tighten and she begins to claw at his hands. A door slams somewhere beyond the kitchen and Elliott tilts his head to get a better look.

In that moment, Bangalore slides to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen and Wattson kicks him right in the groin.

All at once, Elliott drops Wattson and the burning recedes completely, slipping off of his skin, oil slick and hot, and it comes to settle again in his belly; a distant, rumbling burn.

At his feet, Wattson is coughing violently and clutching at her throat. To his right, he can feel Bangalore’s gaze, burning almost as much as the bile settled inside of him once again.

Elliott’s knees give out and he doesn’t have the strength to stop his head from hitting the harsh, glass covered tile of the kitchen floor.

**Author's Note:**

> i find there is some irony in me of all people writing these sorts of fics that are in this series; i don't like gore, horror, excessive violence, etc. vomiting and things in that ballpark? absolutely NOT. but somehow i enjoy writing these things.  
> my therapist says writing this stuff is a healthy coping mechanism, so that's why i try to tag things. why i may sometimes tag excessively; because i want it to be safe for people. i want the consumption of this series to be by people who are able to handle it. so please, please let me know if i missed any tags!!
> 
> also if it wasn't clear, Elliott is still being affected by the shadows from Revenant's totem. they're still lingering in his system and taking him over as a result of his anger and just... the general simmering tension of things, given the circumstances in this series.


End file.
